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1 


ONE  OF  GUANJUATO'S  WIDE  STREETS 


Photo  by  Cox 


f\  Qity  of  Dream5 

((Jua^ajuato) 


BY 


MRS.  PETER  M.  MYERS 


Press  of  Gillett  &  Company 
Milwaukee,  Wis. 


Copyright,  1908, 

Mrs.  Peter  M.  Myers 

Bedford,  Ohio 


H  City  of  Dreams    Gf^q  K^ 


FTER  a  sleep  of  a  hundred  years, 
Guanajuato  is  waking-  up/'  an 
American  resident  of  Mexico  City 
said  to  me  one  day,  and  I  tried 
to  think  what  the  old  place  would 
be  like  "waked  up".  Guanajuato — away  up  in 
the  mountains^,  sleeping-  on  the  hillsides,  the  most 
dreamily  picturesque  city  on  all  the  North  Amer- 
ican continent — waking  up!  It  was  like  hearing 
ill  tidings  of  a  friend,  for  the  waking  up  process 
does  not  help  quaint  old  Mexican  cities,  at  least 
not  for  the  idler  or  artist,  or  even  for  the  every 
day  tourista.  On  a  former  visit  there  were 
threatening  signs  of  commercialism,  and  knowing 
what  American  capital  and  hustle  and  bustle  can 
do  for  one  of  these  drowsy  places,  I  hurried  away 
to  Guanajuato,  as  one  friend  might  fly  to  another 
in  distress. 

It  is  a  full  day's  ride  from  Mexico  City,  and 
all  the  way  we  watched  for  some  sign  of  the 
awakening,  for  we  reasoned  that  if  Guanajuato 
had  waked  up,  some  of  the  nearer  places  on  the 
line  of  the  railway  must  have  shared  in  the 
catastrophe.  At  Tula,  where  the  winds  on  a 
summer  day  are  like  so  many  breaths  from 
heaven,  the  same  women  and  children  brought 
the  same  peppery  things  to  eat,  and  the  same 
little  girls  hurried  to  the  car  windows  with  brown 
jugs  of  pulque.  Up  through  the  beautiful  valley 
of  San  Juan  del  Rio  all  was  the  same;  the  same 
people  sold  the  same  wares,  and  the  same  blind 
beggars  held  up  the  same  dirty  sombreros.  At 
Queretaro,  old,  historic,  quaint  and  beautiful — 
the  place  where  Maximilian  was  put  to  death — 
the  same  women  tended  their  garlanded  jars  of 

7 


food  and  coffee,  and  no  awakening-  appeared. 
Indeed,  all  through  the  valley  there  were  the 
same  dear  old  sights,  even  to  the  primitive  way 
of  drawing  water  for  irrigation — a  bucket  let 
down  on  the  end  of  a  log  swung  on  a  post — and 
the  men  who  drew  the  water  wore  no  more  clothes 
than  they  ever  did,  their  costume  being  a  pair 
of  white  linen  trousers  rolled  high  above  the 
knees,  their  rich  copper-colored  skins  showing 
splendidly  against  the  shining  green  of  the  trees 
above  them.  Much  of  the  way  was  lined  with 
exquisite  gardens,  out  of  which  splashes  of 
color  and  waves  of  delicious  fragrance  floated  up 
to  the  travelers.  P^inally  we  reached  Silao,  where 
one  must  change  cars  for  the  little  railroad  which 
twists  its  way  up  through  the  hills  toward  Guana- 
juato; but  we  decided  that  if  we  were  to  witness 
the  spectacle  of  the  old  city  waked  up,  it  should 
be  by  light  of  day,  and  for  one  night  more  we 
would  dream  of  it  as  we  knew  it  first.  We  found 
quarters  in  an  old  candle-lighted  Mexican  hotel, 
and  from  one  of  its  balconies  watched  the  new 
moon  slide  down  out  of  the  sky  and  the  stars 
come  out.  The  fragrance  of  a  night-blooming 
honey-suckle  floated  up  from  some  old  patio,  and 
over  all  the  great  plain  and  the  blue  hills  was  a 
wondrous  golden  light  and  exquisite  silence. 
Surely  there  was  no  awakening  here. 

Early  the  next  morning  we  started  for  Marfil, 
the  sleepy  little  half-Moorish  village  which 
guards  the  entrance  to  the  barranca  where  Guana- 
juato is  hidden  away.  From  Marfil  into  the  city, 
some  six  miles  further  on  and  about  a  thousand 
feet  higher  up,  the  way  is  by  tiny  street  cars, 
drawn  by  four  mules.  We  feared  electricity 
might  have  replaced  these  little  tram-cars,  ajid 
that  we  would  go  whizzing  up  the  hill,  and  then 
we  should  know  that  the  awakening  had  really 
come,  for  what  city  could  sleep  with  those  whir- 


ring",  bing-banging  creatures  flying  through  its 
streets?  But  it  was  all  dehghtfully  as  it  used  to 
be — with  perhaps  a  Httle  closer  packing  in  the 
cars  of  people  and  luggage — and  then  we  started 
up  the  winding  climb,  along  the  muddy  stream, 
past  old  gray  walls,  galloping  and  curving  from 
one  narrow  street  into  another,  the  drivers  alter- 
nately blowing  their  tin  horns  and  whipping  the 
mules,  whose  hides  had  long  since  become  cal- 
loused and  indifferent  to  all  lashings. 

Because  it  is  so  hidden  away  in  the  hills,  few 
travelers  into  Mexico  realize  the  proximity  of 
Guanajuato,  or  that  it  is  a  city  of  sixty  thousand 
people,  and  was  once  one  of  the  most  famous  min- 
ing camps  of  the  world.  It  is  historic,  too,  and 
so  old  that  its  history  can  hardly  be  traced, 
though  there  are  many  stories  and  traditions  in 
regard  to  its  origin.  Certainly  its  reason  for  be- 
ginning was  in  the  rich  ores  stored  away  in  the 
surrounding  mountains.  Comparatively  few 
tourists  find  their  way  here,  as  it  is  twenty  miles 
from  the  main  line  of  railway,  but  the  heart  of 
the  traveler  must  be  dead  indeed  if  it  fails  to  be 
rejoiced  by  a  few  days  in  this  charmingly  queer 
Old  place.  It  is  built  in  a  barranca — one  of  many 
in  a  labyrinth  of  mountains — and  as  the  city  grew 
it  had  of  necessity  to  climb  the  steep  hills,  and 
economise  in  room  even  to  inches,  compelling 
narrowest  streets  and  flat  roofs.  Of  course  there 
is  much  of  Spain  about  it,  and  somewhat  of  Italy 
too,  but  it  resembles  a  Syrian  city  more  than 
any  other,  and  world-wide  travelers  say  that  cer- 
tain parts  of  Guanajuato  might  be  almost  repro- 
ductions of  Bethlehem,  while  others  might  be 
Jerusalem  itself.  The  houses  are  of  mud  bricks, 
many  of  them  not  even  plastered  over,  and  the 
washing  of  many  rains  has  given  them  a  look  of 
crumbling  age  which  might  carry  them  back  to 
the    time    when    the    bright    shining   of   a    star 

9 


guided  wise  men  to  a  Bethlehem  manger.  There 
is  a  distinct  flavor  of  the  Orient  about  it  all,  and 
if  camels  and  turbaned  riders  should  come  into 
the  picture  it  would  not  seem  over-strange.  As 
in  the  far  East;,  the  flat  roofs  serve  far  beyond 
shelter;  they  are  the  yard,  the  veranda,  the  bal- 
cony, the  mirador,  the  place  of  retreat  and  the 
meeting  place  of  friends.  Its  winding  little 
thoroughfares  can  hardly  be  called  streets,  ex- 
cept in  the  business  part;  they  are  mostly  nar- 
row paths,  and  in  a  few  places  it  is  possible  even 
to  reach  across  and  touch  the  opposite  wall. 
These  little  streets  meander  aimlessly  up  the 
mountains,  playing  hide  and  seek  with  one  an- 
other and  giving  at  every  turn  the  most  exquisite 
bits  for  the  brush  of  an  artist.  There  is  no  such 
thing  as  walking  on  a  level  in  Guanajuato.  It 
is  up  or  down,  usually  in  a  most  decided  manner, 
and  crossing  from  one  street  to  another  is  often 
by  a  stairway  of  cobble  stones.  The  houses  cling 
to  the  rocks,  and  overhang  the  ledges,  and  the 
zigzagging  little  by-ways  lead  from  one  delight 
to  another.  Cameras  may  not  catch  these  pic- 
tures, and  as  yet  no  artist  has  been  able  to  faith- 
fully reproduce  them.  The  one  who  can  do  so 
will  make  himself  forever  dear  to  all  lovers  of  art. 
One's  pen  may  run  riot  with  adjectives  and  en- 
thusiasm, and  yet  give  no  real  pictures  of  Guana- 
juato, so  illusive  are  they;  but  if  the  idler  will 
climb  to  the  top  of  some  of  these  high  hills,  where 
he  may  look  down  on  the  flat  roofs  rambling  up 
the  mountain  to  him,  and  across  to  the  other 
side,  where  one  terrace  of  roofs  rises  on  another, 
a  high  wall,  an  old  arch,  a  quaint  stairway,  lead- 
ing to  yet  other  roofs  and  walls  and  arches — he 
may  get  some  faint  idea  of  the  city's  quaintness. 
And  if  this  journey  is  made  at  the  close  of  day, 
in  tim^  to  see  the  shadows  gather,  as  the  sun 
drops  behind  the  mountains,  touching  their  tops 
11 


with  a  g^olden  mist,  that  scene  will  go  with  him 
in  all  after  journey ings.  Looking  up  at  these 
peaks  it  seems  as  if,  from  the  tops  of  some  of 
them,  one  might  almost  behold  the  kingdoms  of 
the  earth  spread  out  below ;  but  the  highest  ones 
cnly  reveal  more  mountain  peaks,  until  it  looks 
as  if  all  the  world  had  resolved  itself  into  massive 
brown  hills  and  intervening  little  valleys. 

All  the  streets  present  a  solid  walled  front,  and 
it  is  only  through  an  open  door  that  one  may  even 
guess  what  is  behind  them.  Sometimes  the 
open  door-way  discloses  cnly  a  hole  in  the  wall, 
or  an  array  of  filth,  and  a  lot  of  domestic  animals 
— chickens,  pigs,  turkeys  and  dogs — all  living  in 
the  same  room  with  the  family  in  great  content ; 
but  more  often,  in  Guanajuato  at  least,  the  doors 
reveal  neat  homes,  and  sometimes  old  patios 
beautiful  with  flowers  and  plants  and  singing 
birds.  Indeed,  in  many  of  these  homes,  even  of 
the  very  poor,  we  found  exquisite  cleanliness,  the 
old  stone  floors  scrubbed  to  shining,  and  every- 
thing in  order  with  true  Mexican  rigidity. 

Tucked  away  in  the  little  streets  and  corners 
are  the  stands  of  all  sorts  of  vendors — fruits, 
vegetables,  zarapes,  jx^ttery,  baskets,  with  junk 
shops  and  the  "Thieves'  Market"  all  so  mingled 
together  that  it  is  not  easy  to  tell  where  one  be- 
gins or  the  other  leaves  oflf.  On  Sundays,  their 
great  market  day,  the  place  is  filled  with  busy 
people,  and  all  the  life  and  color  which  go  with 
a  market  day  in  Mexico,  except  that  here,  because 
of  such  limited  space,  the  vendors  spread  out  into 
the  streets  in  every  direction,  like  the  tendrils  of 
a  vine — their  wares  displayed  on  the  cobble-stone 
pavement — and  every  little  by-way  also  becomes 
aflame  with  color. 

Our  hotel  faced  on  what  seemed  to  be  an  alley, 
but  was  really  one  of  the  widest  streets.  It 
promised  at  the  corner  of  the  block  some  eighteen 

12 


Photo  by  Cox 


A  NARROW  WINDING  STREET 


feet  in  width,  but  narrowed  down  to  nine,  widened 
again  to  about  sixteen,  and  compassed  at  least 
three  distinct  juts  and  bulges  before  it  finally 
went  quavering  to  the  entrance  a  hundred  feet 
away.  The  hotel  itself  has  many  architectural 
puzzles  and  wonders,  and  where  the  rooms  are 
stored  away,  and  how  to  find  them,  are  problems 
which  each  guest  must  solve  for  himself.  It  was 
several  days  before  I  could  understand  how,  hav- 
ing climbed  but  one  flight  of  stone  steps,  my  own 
little  balcony  overlooked  an  almost  dizzy  height 
above  the  street.  But  having  learned  the  way  in, 
and  practiced  a  little  on  getting  out,  the  traveler 
is  well  content  with  its  many  comforts,  especially 
when  one  realizes  that  in  passing  in  or  out  the 
way  is  under  an  old  arch  with  an  ancient  inscrip- 
tion showing  that  the  building  was  blessed  and 
dedicated  for  use  in  1557. 

It  was  in  the  inner  courts  and  patio  of  this  good 
resting  place  that  we  discovered  the  first  signs  of 
the  awakening  of  Guanajuato.  Here  was  a  con- 
tinual hum  of  English-speaking  voices,  and  the 
beginning  and  end  of  all  conversation  was  of 
mines  and  mining.  The  very  atmosphere  was 
surcharged  with  gold  and  silver,  and  whether  in 
the  office,  or  dining-room,  or  patio,  one  heard  of 
dividends,  reports,  assays,  reduction  processes, 
percentages,  and  the  like.  English-speaking  peo- 
ple hurried  in  and  hurried  out,  saddled  horses 
clattered  up  to  the  old  arched  entrance,  with  men 
from  the  mines,  and  clattered  away  again,  taking 
men  out  to  the  mines.  Every  now  and  then  the 
little  tram-car  brought  more  people  up  from  Mar- 
fil,  and  deposited  them  down  in  the  little  street 
below;  the  hum  of  English  increased,  and  more 
people  flitted  in  and  flitted  out  in  a  very  busy 
manner. 

It  was  plainly  no  place  for  an  idler,  and  I 
wandered  out  to  mix  with  the  more  easy-going 

14 


natives  and  renew  my  memories.  On  a  former 
visit  there  promised  a  pretty  romance,  from  one 
of  the  old  balconies  facing  on  the  zocalo,  and  I 
tip-toed  over  there  to  see  whether  it  might  not 
still  be  going  on ;  but  no  romance  was  there,  nor 
could  searching  find  out  how  it  had  fared.  From 
one  opening  on  the  balcony  a  typewriter  clicked 
continuously,  and  from  another  a  phonograph 
sent  out  its  hideous  noises.  On  the  further  corner 
of  the  little  park  I  encountered  a  whirlwind  of 
American  voices  and  activity,  and  a  spirited  air 
pervaded  everything.  Even  the  blind  beggars 
had  acquired  a  quicker  walk  and  a  more  insistent, 
business-like  manner. 

Across  the  street,  on  the  steps  of  the  Teatro 
Juarez,  were  a  lot  of  natives,  seemingly  the  same 
ones  who  sat  there  years  ago — their  rain-bow 
hued  zarapes,  blue  rebosos  and  big  sombreros 
making  a  bright  picture,  and  mingling  a  touch  of 
the  old  world  with  the  newness  of  this  splendidly 
modern  building.  This  theatre  is  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  in  the  world,  and  there  are  those  who 
say  it  is  the  most  beautiful.  Although  ground 
room  in  Guanajuato  is  so  precious,  this  building 
stands  on  a  lot  by  itself,  one  of  the  most  valuable 
in  the  city,  facing  on  the  plaza,  and  its  handsome 
entrance  and  massive  stone  steps  are  the  first  ob- 
jects to  attract  the  eye  of  the  stranger.  Its  rows 
of  columns  across  the  front  are  Corinthian,  but 
those  in  the  interior  are  Aztec,  while  the  decora- 
tions are  Moorish.  The  draperies  are  soft  and 
rich,  and  ev(?rything  about  the  structure,  inside 
and  out,  has  an  air  and  a  grace  which  we  Ameri- 
cans might  do  well  to  envy  and  imitate.  The 
theatre  was  completed  and  stood  unused  for  five 
years,  waiting  for  President  Diaz  to  open  it. 
This  was  accomplished  a  few  years  ago,  and  the 
President  bound  himself  by  one  more  tie  to  the 
loyal  people  of  this  old  camp. 

16 


A  PICTURESQUE  WATER  CARRIER 

Photo  by  Ravell 


The  streets  used  to  be  lighted  with  oil  lanterns, 
as  they  should  be;  but  now  electric  lights  glitter 
everywhere,  and  have  put  out  half  the  charm 
and  shadowy  mystery  of  the  old  cavern-like  thor- 
oughfares. In  the  lantern-lighted  nights  there 
was  a  great  fascination  in  poking  about  the  wind- 
ing little  ways  under  the  guidance  of  an  gen- 
darme, cr  the  protection  of  a  friend  con  una  pis- 
tola.  The  old  lanterns  still  hang  across  the  street, 
somewhat  sullenly  asserting  their  erstwhile  use- 
fulness, and  defying  the  municipality  to  do  with- 
out them,  as  their  trustworthiness  sometimes  com- 
pensates for  lack  of  brilliancy. 

Here  and  there  were  traces  of  the  great  flood 
of  1905 — especially  down  the  ravine  leading  to 
Marfil,  and  one  realizes  a  little  what  devastation 
was  wrought  in  one  short  hour,  for  that  was  the 
duration  of  the  flood,  from  the  time  the  waters 
began  to  rise  in  the  streets  until  they  had  reached 
a  depth  of  fourteen  feet  in  places  and  entirely 
subsided,  carrying  away  scores  of  homes,  killing 
some  five  hundred  people,  and  sweeping  away 
hundreds  of  burros,  mules,  and  all  sorts  of  do- 
mestic animals,  like  so  many  wisps  of  straw.  The 
flood  was  caused  by  a  water-spout,  and  before  the 
people  could  realize  what  was  happening,  each 
little  street  and  path  had  become  a  mountain  tor- 
rent, pouring  into  the  center  of  the  city,  and  chok- 
ing up  the  only  outlet,  the  street  of  the  tram-cars 
leading  to  Marfil. 

By  the  time  it  was  over,  night  had  come,  and 
nothing  could  be  done  except  for  those  who  still 
had  homes  to  give  food  and  shelter  to  those  who 
had  none ;  and  the  city  went  to  bed,  dazed,  water- 
soaked  and  dreary ;  but  before  it  had  hardly  wak- 
ened the  next  morning  to  know  what  it  had  suf- 
fered, some  of  the  mine  operators  had  marched 
their  men  in  from  the  mines,  and  the  work  of 
helping  the  city  to  find  itself  was  begun.     Every- 

18 


TWO  OF  GUANAJUATO'S  WATER  CARRIERS 

Photo  bj-  Cox 


thing  recent  in  Guanajuato  dates  from  this  great 
flood,  and  everywhere  are  marks  showing  how 
high  the  water  rose.  Even  in  the  Httle  church 
by  the  plaza,  high  up  on  one  of  the  pillars  by  the 
altar,  there  is  this  inscription :  *'Inundacion,  Julio, 
1905".  It  was  to  this  church  we  went  to  renew 
our  acquaintance  with  friends  of  other  days — 
particularly  with  a  life-sized  statue  of  St.  Peter, 
and  another  of  the  cock  which  crew  when  Peter 
had  denied  his  Master  thrice.  These  two  statues 
stand  on  the  same  pedestal,,  as  if  in  life  they  had 
been  the  closest  friends,  and  we  were  glad  to  find 
that  the  Inundacion  had  not  washed  away  or  in 
anywise  harmed  these  two  delightful  bits  of 
realism. 

There  have  been  other  floods  in  Guanajuato — 
indeed  her  history  is  well  sprinkled  with  them — 
and  one  in  1760  wrought  great  ruin  and  destroyed 
many  lives,  but  none  have  ever  equalled  in  any 
way  that  of  1905.  A  tunnel  was  begun,  sometime 
in  the  eighteenth  century,  for  the  purpose  of  car- 
rying off  the  waters  which  pour  down  into  the 
city  from  the  mountain  passes  in  heavy  rains; 
but  it  was  abandoned  for  one  cause  and  another. 
It  is  now  being  completed  at  a  cost  of  a  million 
dollars,  and  Guanajuato  will  no  more  be  a  prey 
to  floods. 

The  city's  water  supply  is  furnished  from  two 
large  reservoirs.  One  beyond  the  church  of 
Valenciana,  high  up  in  the  mountains,  supplies 
the  houses  and  fountains.  This  is  strictly 
guarded,  none  of  the  hills  about  it  are  allowed 
to  be  used  for  pasture,  and  every  precaution  is 
taken  to  keep  the  water  pure.  The  dam  across 
this  reservoir  is  a  massive,  artistic  piece  of 
masonry,  the  top  forming  a  splendid  road-way  to 
the  hills  and  country  beyond.  It  was  here  that 
the  fiesta  of  St.  John's  day  used  to  be  observed. 
On  that  day,  the  24th  of  June,  everybody  in  Mex- 
20 


ico  is  supposed  to  have  a  bath;  the  bath-houses 
are  decorated,  many  of  them  have  music,  and  are 
opened  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  it  is 
a  long  day  of  cleanliness  and  rejoicing — at  least 
it  was  designed  to  be  such!  Guanajuato  cele- 
brated it  by  opening  the  flood-gates  of  this  dam, 
and  letting  off  the  water  from  this  reservoir,  or 
lake.  In  those  days  the  gates  were  of  wood,  and 
prisoners  condemned  to  death  were  appointed  to 
break  them  down.  Of  course  it  was  a  most 
dangerous  undertaking,  and  very  few  escaped 
with  their  lives,  but  those  who  did  obtained  their 
liberty. 

And  so  it  came  about  that  the  place  was  called 
*'La  Presa  de  Esperanza" — the  dam  of  hope.  It 
v/as  a  slender  hope  at  best  which  was  held  out  to 
condemned  men;  but  life  was  dear,  even  to  them, 
and  they  battled  madly  with  the  waters  for  life 
and  liberty.  The  natives  came  from  miles  away 
for  this  fiesta,  and  great  crowds  thronged  the 
banks  to  witness  the  sport,  which  ranked  with 
buU-fighting  and  other  amusements  of  the  kind — 
to  all  which  the  blood  of  both  their  Aztec  and 
Spanish  ancestors  had  given  them  a  leaning  and 
a  liking.  Rare  sport  indeed  it  must  have  been, 
and  a  gruesomely  realistic  way  of  commemorat- 
ing the  birth-day  of  St.  John  the  Baptist. 

The  other  reservoir  is  at  the  further  end  of  the 
city,  and  is  made  to  beautify  that  section.  "La 
I'resa"  they  call  it,  and  it  is  a  graceful  combina- 
tion of  curves,  arches,  stone  steps,  little  lakes, 
high  walls,  terraces,  flowers  and  fountains  and 
little  shadowy  pathways.  It  is  a  delightful  spot 
in  which  to  while  away  the  hours,  and  with  the 
sun  shifting  through  the  leaves,  and  bird-songs 
overhead,  one  may  watch  the  streams  of  color 
flowing  down  the  forky  mountain  paths  at  six 
o'clock — the  peons  coming  from  their  work  in  the 

21 


mines,  and  each  one  wearing  or  carrying  a  bril- 
liant zarape  and  the  ever  picturesque  sombrero. 

Hidalgo  was  a  native  of  Guanajuato,  and  in 
the  beautiful  little  park  at  La  Presa  is  a  splendid 
bronze  statue  of  him — the  George  Washington 
of  Mexico.  He  lived  in  San  Filipe  from  1792 
to  1798,  and  a  tablet  there  tells  the  story  of  this 
beloved  patriot,  who  was  put  to  death  in 
Chihuahua  in  181 1,  and  his  head  brought  to 
Guanajuato,  and  hung  on  a  comer  of  the  Alhon- 
diga  de  Graniditas,  the  hideous  spike  still  re- 
maining on  the  historic  old  building.  If  Hidalgo 
could  have  known  how,  in  after  years,  he  would 
be  revered  and  honored,  perhaps  he  would  have 
counted  it  full  compensation  for  losing  his  life; 
or  perhaps  he  did  not  care  if  he  did  lose  it  in 
struggling  to  help  the  people  he  had  all  his  life 
loved  and  tried  to  help.  And  if  he  can  look  back 
now  it  must  be  an  infinite  satisfaction  to  know 
how  much  he  did  accomplish  for  their  good. 

The  water-carriers  of  Guanajuato  add  much  to 
the  city's  quaintness.  Many  of  them  are  women 
and  young  girls,  who  carry  the  large  earthen  jars 
en  their  heads  or  shoulders  in  a  most  graceful, 
oriental  fashion,  and  as  they  gather  about  some 
old  fountain,  make  delightful  pictures.  At  La 
Presa  three  of  these  bare-footed,  picturesque  car- 
riers used  to  come  every  evening  to  fill  their  jars, 
usually  laughing  as  they  came  and  went.  I  longed 
to  j>erpetuate  them  with  a  camera,  but  they  were 
just  too  late  for  the  light,  and  all  I  caught  was  a 
cheerful  ^'buenas  tardes,"  and  a  smile — ^though  in 
my  memory  I  shall  always  have  the  picture  of 
these  three  women  and  their  gracefully  poised 
jars  silhouetted  against  the  evening  sky,  as  they 
single-filed  across  the  old  stone  terrace. 

The  Panteon  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  of 
its  kind  in  Mexico.  It  stands  well  up  on  the 
mountain,  and  no  one  may  pass  through  the 
22 


OLD  CHURCH  BY  THE  PLAZA 

Photo  by  Cox 


Photo  by  Cox 


ALHONDIQA  DE  GRANIDITAS 


entrance  except  by  permission  of  the  guard.  All 
around  the  interior,  to  the  top  of  the  wall,  are 
little  places  allotted  for  interment.  They  are 
exactly  like  the  pigeon-holes  of  a  desk,  but  large 
enough  for  a  casket.  A  certain  sum  is  charged 
for  perpetual  right  to  one  of  these  spaces,  and 
if  at  the  end  of  a  specified  time  this  sum  is 
not  paid,  the  casket  is  taken  out,  the  contents 
put  in  a  corridor  below — to  swell  the  half  mile 
of  human  bones  already  there — and  the  space 
rented  to  some  one  else.  It  hapi^ens  sometimes, 
in  this  casting  out  process,  that  the  remains  are 
found  to  be  well  preserved,  in  which  case  they 
are  placed  in  another  corridor,  and  made  to 
stand  along  with  others  of  their  kind,  gathered 
in  this  under-ground  place  without  regard  to 
affinities  or  former  friendships  or  enmities.  One 
old  fellow  looks  as  if  he  had  died  of  laughing; 
others  appear  to  appreciate  the  grim  humor  of 
the  situation,  while  some  of  them  will  never  cease 
to  look  their  resentment.  One's  memories  of 
Guanajuato  will  be  quite  as  pleasant  without  a 
visit  to  this  gruesome  collection,  but  if  the  idler 
is  also  a  conscientious  sightseer,  a  climb  down 
this  winding,  narrow  stairway  will  be  necessary ; 
and  the  silent  people  down  there  are  not  quite  so 
repulsive  since  they  have  been  clothed  with  white 
surplices. 

The  only  wagons  in  the  city  are  huge  and  high 
two-wheeled  carts,  drawn  by  six  mules,  hitched 
four  abreast  and  two  abreast,  and  they  make  a 
great  clatter  over  the  cobble-stone  pavements. 
Of  course  these  carts  can  only  get  through  the 
widest  streets,  so  the  problem  of  carrying  heavy 
loads  of  all  sorts  falls  on  the  patient  little  burro — 
always  the  burden  bearer  and  philosopher,  and 
part  and  parcel  of  the  industry  and  welfare  of 
Mexico.  There  are  a  few  fine  equipages  in  the 
city,  but  the  best  way  of  getting  about  is  on  horse- 

24 


CALLE  DEL  CAMPANERO 


back;  indeed  the  full  joy  of  a  stay  in  Guanajuato 
is  made  perfect  by  riding  over  the  mountains 
and  through  the  little  valleys  on  one  of  these 
sure-footed  horses,  many  of  whom  still  retain  the 
pride  and  grace  and  fine  features  of  their  Arabian 
ancestors. 

The  city's  name  is  an  old  Indian  one,  and  used 
to  be  spelled  **Quashiquato",  and  ''Quanashuato", 
and  other  ways,  and  finally  evolved  into  Guana- 
juato, and  is  said  to  mean  ^'Mountain  of  Frogs", 
and  to  derive  its  name  from  a  frog-shaped  stone 
found  there,  which  the  Indians  worshipped.  Be 
that  as  it  may,  the  Spaniards  began  coming  here 
in  1547,  attracted  by  the  reports  of  the  rich  mines, 
which  had  hitherto  been  worked  by  the  Chichi- 
meca  or  Otomi  Indians — branches  of  the  Aztecs 
— and  it  was  not  long, before  this  came  to  be  the 
scene  of  some  of  the  greatest  mining  activities  the 
world  had  ever  known.  And  there  are  those  in 
Guanajuato  who  tell  you  that  what  that  age  was 
there,  in  magnificence  and  splendor,  we  of  our 
time  can  form  no  idea,  and  that  our  modern  bo- 
nanzas are  mere  nothings  in  comparison  to  the 
riches  taken  from  those  mines  then.  The  rich 
and  cultivated  and  the  nobility  came  over  from 
Spain,  as  did  also  the  adventurers.  And  as  the 
mines  more  and  more  poured  out  their  wealth, 
the  necessities  and  luxuries  of  the  people  in- 
creased, until  it  required  the  markets  of  the  world 
to  supply  their  wants.  And  so  it  came  about 
that  there  were  brought  there  the  richest  and 
finest  silks  from  Japan,  the  rarest  and  most  beau- 
tiful china  which  could  be  procured  in  any  coun- 
try, Arabian  horses,  and  even  carved  ivory  furni- 
ture from  India — indeed  every  luxury  which 
could  be  thither  transported  eventually  found  its 
way  into  this  camp  of  fabulous  wealth.  At  that 
time  Spain  derived  the  greater  part  of  her  wealth 
from  Mexico,  and  especially  from  Guanajuato, 

2« 


one  mine  alone  paying  $17,000,000  in  royalties  to 
the  Crown  of  Spain. 

The  work  in  all  these  mines  was  done  by  the 
peons,  who  received  six  cents  a  day,  when  they 
were  paid  anything-.  It  was  not  for  them  that 
the  mines  poured  out  their  gold  and  silver.  But 
these  poor  people  were  very  religious— 
perhaps  it  was  more  comfortable  for  a 
person  if  he  was  very  religious  in  those  days, 
for  he  was  then  under  the  dominion  of 
Spain — and  when  they  were  not  earning  the 
fabulous  sum  of  six  cents  a  day  in  the  mines,  they 
could  build  churches  without  pay,  and  give  thanks 
for  the  privilege  !  The  church  of  Valenciana  was 
built  in  this  way.  It  is  near  the  Valenciana  mine, 
away  up  on  the  mountain,  and  commands  a 
superb  view  of  the  city.  If  built  in  the  ordinary 
way  this  church  would  probably  not  have  cost 
more  than  $150,000,  with  perhaps  $250,000  more 
for  its  gold  and  silver  candlesticks  and  gold-leaf 
ornamentations ;  but  in  that  golden  age  they  were 
not  careful  of  the  cost  in  building  a  church,  and 
for  this  one  they  sent  to  Spain  and  procured  the 
costliest  and  rarest  wines  with  which  to  mix  the 
mortar — 'thus  bringing  the  cost  up  to  more  than 
a  million  of  dollars.  The  Count  of  Valenciana 
would  have  his  people  worship  well !  The  ex- 
cavations for  this  church  were  carried  out  in  pur- 
ple and  scarlet  silk  bags,  blessed  and  consecrated 
for  that  special  purpose.  The  church  of  Valen- 
ciana was  built  bv  the  operatives  of  the  one  mine, 
which  has  produced  some  three  hundred  millions 
of  dollars.  It  has  been  worked  down  twenty- 
two  hundred  feet,  and  has  fifty-eight  miles  of 
underground  workings,  and  at  present  contains 
about  one  million  cubic  meters  of  water. 

In  that  glorious  golden  dream  Guanajuato 
lived  for  years,  and  every  year  the  dream  became 
more  beautiful,  more  vivid  and  more  real.     Here 

27 


was  really  inexhaustible  wealth,  limitless  possi- 
bilities !  With  these  great  hills  filled  almost  to 
bursting  with  gold  and  silver,  what  mind  could 
compass  the  future  of  Guanajuato?  The  moun- 
tains were  alive  with  peons  and  burros,  carrying 
the  ores,  hurrying  with  all  the  speed  possible  to 
a  Mexican  and  a  burro;  but  do  their  best,  they 
could  not  get  the  ores  out  fast  enough ;  men  and 
burros  would  be  exhausted  before  the  bottom  of 
the  mines  could  be  reached.  It  was  good  just  to 
be  alive  in  those  days — at  least  for  those  who 
owned  the  mines — to  find  one's  treasure  piling 
higher  each  day,  to  know  that  the  future  held 
only  gold  and  untold  luxuries — no  want  nor  wish 
that  could  not  be  gratified,  if  only  the  markets  of 
the  world  held  out !  How  more  than  golden  was 
the  dream ! 

But  finally  a  distant  rumble  was  heard.  This 
mine  had  not  produced  quite  so  much  of  late ; 
that  one  had  come  upon  a  iX)or  vein ;  another  had 
had  some  misfortunes,  and  yet  others  were  filling 
with  water.  Things  were  not  going  well ;  and  at 
last  the  precious  ores  seemed  to  give  out.  The 
mines  had  been  worked  as  deep  and  as  well  as 
they  could  be,  with  the  primitive  methods  of  those 
days,  and  there  came  a  time  when  they  could  go 
no  further.  On  by  one  the  mines  ceased  to  be 
worked  at  all,  and  the  rich  people — those  who  had 
not  spent  all  their  wealth  as  fast  as  they  got  it — 
invested  their  money  in  the  fertile  lands  between 
Leon  and  Queretaro;  those  who  could  get  away 
moved  to  other  places;  and  Guanajuato  went  to 
sleep!  Seemingly  hers  was  a  dreamless  sleep, 
vv^'hich  should  know  no  waking.  If  she  dreamed, 
it  was  a  nightmare ;  if  she  waked  it  was  to  poverty 
and  dreariness.  The  hills  which  had  been  so 
packed  with  riches  were  now  great  masses  of 
profitless,  ungiving  rock,  which  would  not  raise 


corn,  and  without  corn  the  people  could  not  live. 
How  more  than  wretched  was  the  prospect ! 

A  few  years  ago  new  mines  were  discovered 
hereabouts,  and  Americans  and  other  foreigners 
began  coming  in.  They  brought  with  them  not 
only  capital,  but  new  methods  of  working  the  old 
mines,  new  and  modern  machinery,  and  new  ways 
of  economising,  so  that  even  what  was  considered 
waste  material  in  old  dumps  was  made  valuable. 
Investors  now  and  then  paid  what  seemed  enor- 
mous prices  for  apparently  exhausted  mines — and 
which  were  exhausted  so  far  as  Mexican  ways  of 
working  them  were  concerned.  The  cyanide  pro- 
cess of  reducing  the  ores  was  brought  here,  and 
the  patio  process  almost  done  away  with,  so  that 
only  one  of  those  old  patios  is  in  operation  in 
Guanajuato,  and  that  will  not  long  continue. 
This  process,  although  most  picturesque,  can  well 
be  spared,  because  so  costly  in  the  lives  of  men 
and  mules. 

At  last,  through  a  persevering  American,  elec- 
tric power  was  brought  to  Guanajuato  from  a 
hundred  miles  away  !  And  this  same  man  of  faith 
built  a  cyanide  plant,  and  demonstrated  its  effi- 
ciency, and  all  in  so  short  a  time  that  those  who 
doubted  and  jeered  were  amazed,  and  a  new  era 
was  launched  for  the  old  mining  camp.  Again 
the  mountains  are  alive  with  peons  and  burros, 
hurrying  the  ores  from  the  mines;  again  the 
mountains  are  filled  almost  to  bursting  with  gold 
and  silver — so  the  dream  runs — and  again  the 
treasure  is  piling  higher  day  by  day !  Here  and 
there  on  the  side  of  a  hill,  or  down  among  the 
little  mud  houses  may  be  found  a  big,  busy  mill, 
where  hundreds  of  men  work  day  and  night,  and 
the  wheels  turn  unceasingly. 

And  if  the  idler  has  a  well  tuned  ear  he  may 

80 


discern,  above  the  noise  and  rumble,  a  melodious 
rythm,  as 

"All  day  long  the  stamp  mill 

Rolls  its  thunder  down  the  glen 
In  toil  to  free  the  yellow  gold 
That  binds  the  souls  of  men." 

These  new  methods  and  economies  have  tre- 
mendously increased  the  profit  on  all  the  ores, 
and  now  it  is  estimated  that  the  yearly  production 
amounts  to  something  more  than  twelve  million 
dollars,  with  profits  to  exceed  five  millions  of 
dollars,  and  ever  increasing  prospects  and  capac- 
ity— so  that  now  the  possibilities  of  this  famous 
camp  are  once  more  bewildering  and  bewitching. 
Indeed  it  is  said  that  the  proposed  improvements 
and  new  mines  being  developed,  will  bring  the 
production  up  to  about  $25,000,000  annually — of 
which  the  fortunate  stockholders  will  receive 
something  like  $10,000,000  a  year  in  dividends. 
Of  course  there  hovers  over  the  place  an  air 
of  subdued  excitement,  an  expectant  waiting, 
and  there  is  always  present  the  charm  of  the 
speculative  element,  which  here  is  peculiarly 
fascinating  because  of  the  rich  discoveries  which 
have  been  made  and  are  likely  to  be  made,  all 
through  these  ore-packed  mountains. 

And  thus  it  is  through  the  finding  of  new 
mines,  and  the  discovery  and  introduction  of  new 
processes,  and  American  capital  and  machinery 
being  put  into  old  mines  which  were  supposed  to 
be  exhausted,  and  American  energy  behind  it  all, 
that  Guanajuato  is  renewing  her  golden  dream — 
or  perhaps  waking  up,  as  my  American  friend 
said — but  fortunately  she  cannot  all  wake  up,  at 
least  not  all  at  a  time ;  and  there  are  yet,  and  al- 
ways will  be,  many  sleepy,  picturesque  places  in 
the  old  city,  where  the  idler  may  dream  almost 
any  dream  he  chooses.  If  it  is  of  gold,  and  he 
•ii 


Q 
ui 
Z 

§ 

to 

D 

< 
U 

Q 
Z 

< 

o 
< 

< 
z 

< 

D 
O 

o 

< 

< 
a: 
o 
z 

< 


will  take  a  pick  and  a  divining  rod,  and  go  out 
into  the  hills,  that  dream  may  come  to  pass  sur- 
prisingly soon.  If  his  dream  is  of  old  china,  rare 
antiques  and  zarapes,  and  he  will  wander  out  into 
queer  places,  and  idle  away  a  few  hours  with  the 
natives,  he  may  find  such  exquisite  treasures  as 
to  make  him  dread  the  waking,  lest  his  dream 
should  not  prove  true.  Or  does  he  dream  that 
brighter  days  are  in  store  even  for  these  much 
despised  peons?  That  foreigners  coming  into 
Mexico  will  teach  them  a  better  way  of  living — 
without  necessarily  changing  their  religion  or 
their  picturesque  costumes — and  that  they  will 
eventually  learn  to  keep  clean,  and  make  their 
land  and  their  labor  bring  them  a  better  material 
welfare?  It  is  said  that  a  higher  civilization  is 
beginning  to  press  in  upon  these  quiet  brown  peo- 
ple, all  over  Mexico,  and  this  dream  also  may 
come  to  pass.  And  if  the  idler  will  lift  his  eyes 
above  the  little  streets,  above  the  terraces  of 
flat  roofs,  and  walls  and  arches,  above  the  mines, 
and  church  towers,  he  may  see — or  dream  that 
he  sees — the  Millenium  coming  over  those  cactus- 
crowned  hill-tops,  almost  any  day.  But  whatever 
the  idler  may  dream,  Guanajuato  dreams  again 
of  gold ! 


8.3 


mm^mmmmmmmmm 


